


She's Got Balls

by fannyvonfabulus



Series: The Sexual Adventures of S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Pussy [2]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, F/M, F/M/M, I clearly can't write action scenes, Multi, Rimming, Rough Sex, Some angst, You Have Been Warned, and have no idea about weaponary, blood play (of sorts), bottom!Phil, but it's all ok in the end, if you're not a fan of blood, mission violence at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannyvonfabulus/pseuds/fannyvonfabulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is injured on what should have been a milk run and Agent Johnson isn't happy about that.  AT ALL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I clearly can't write action scenes for shit so I apologise for how pants the first chapter is. I am working on getting better at writing action stuff, I promise. And it's pretty obvious that I don't know anything about weaponary either but hey-ho.
> 
> I stole the anti-gravity bullets idea from Fringe as I've just finished series 5. 
> 
> Title for this part taken from She's Got Balls by AC/DC.
> 
> I have also taken liberties with Phil's and DJ's code names. I regret nothing. (Only Fools and Horses is an old comedy show here in the UK and there was a character called Trigger in it.)

“Sir, this mission is fucking bullshit,” Clint drawls over the comm and he’s right – this is a clusterfuck of epic proportions.  Whoever was in charge of the intel on this one is a massive dick and is getting a slap as soon I get back to HQ.  “Sir?  Come in K. Fuck…..”

“Hawkeye, report.”

“Either K’s comm. is down or something happened,” Clint comes back and there’s a hint of concern in his voice. 

“Then get the fuck in there and find out,” I clip back, equally worried.  Phil never goes of comms for anything, unless he decides to tune out mine and Barton’s back-and-forth when we’re bored.  Clint grunts an affirmative and I see him shimmy down from his perch in a tree across from me.  With Phil unaccounted for, it leaves me in charge which isn’t the best outcome.  Not that I’m not capable, I’d just rather not be.  I don’t have the cool head that Phil does when things go tits up like they are now.

“Iron Man?”

“S’up Trigger?” Tony comes across and I can hear the frown in his voice.  Trigger is my field name.  I blame Tony, seeing has he’s the one who came up with it.  I love guns and he loves Only Fools and Horses, so the name Trigger was born.  As for Coulson’s field name, I jokingly likened Phil to Agent K from Men In black one day because of his suits and shades.  It stuck so now we all refer to him as K out in the field.

“K isn’t answering his comm. I’m going in after Clint. Think you can hold the fort out here?” 

“You sure that’s wise?”

“Does it look like I give a fuck right now?”

“Just askin’,” Tony sighs as I leave my rifle up on my own perch before dropping down to ground level.  “Got you covered so go get your boys.”

“And maybe try out the new hardware at the same time huh?” I smirk as Tony flies past me, taking down a few HYDRA grunts in the process.  The place is crawling with them.  This was supposed to be a simple milk run, taking down a minor league arms dealer in Turkey (and what a fucking surprise that it went shit shaped), whilst Clint got to test his new exploding and acid tipped arrows. I also get to do a test run on the new armour piercing bullets that Tony had come up with for the new hand guns I had in both shoulder holsters.  My trusty Glocks are in their usual thigh holsters but the numerous extra magazines tucked around my belt and field trousers are looking less numerous by the minute.  I’ve already exhausted the mags for the sniper rifle I’ve been using up on my perch and now I’m heading into the fray with what I hope is going to be enough to last.  And I always have the mag of Tony’s new, _‘super secret, super awesome genius bullets’_ to fall back on.  God knows what they actually do but I may need them. 

“Hawkeye, talk to me,” I bark into the comm. as I pelt after Clint towards the warehouse.  We’ve only got Tony and a few baby agents for back up.  Cap, Widow and Bucky are in Russia somewhere, Bruce is at a conference in Argentina and everyone else is back in New York so we’re just going to have to make this work.

“Up high.”

Flattening myself against the outer wall of the warehouse behind some empty fuel drums, my eyes track upwards and I can see Clint in the rafters.

“Sit Rep.”

“Eyes on K. Conscious but bloody.  Heavy on the grunts. Easy shots, not enough arrows.  Need you in hot.”

“Understood.  On my Six.”

A few deep breaths and I’m vaulting over the barrels and straight into the lion’s den, guns blazing.  Clint wasn’t lying when he said heavy on the grunts – there are about 30 of them, all aiming at me.  It’s a cheap trick, using me as the distraction but it means that Clint can easily take down more than one of them at a time when they’re all facing the same way.  I can see Phil tied to a chair towards the back of the warehouse and he looks barely awake, his head lolling to the side and blood dripping from his nose and mouth onto his beautiful suit.  I feel the rage rising and start using whatever cover there is to dodge behind before throwing myself towards the next, taking a few grunts out at the same time.  My adrenaline is pumping through my veins along with the rage at seeing Phil so helpless and the thrill that only come from shooting a shit ton of bad guys. 

“Hawkeye, how many?”

“23….. 19…….15…… 13….”

I grin manically and reload the new handguns.  They’re not bad.  I don’t like them as much as my Glocks but they’re pretty lightweight and easy to handle.  Popping up from behind a stack of pallets, I take aim and down a few more of the heavy hitters.  The air is already thick with gun smoke and the rising stench of death and I still can’t get to Phil.  I want him up and out of here with myself and Clint as soon as possible.  I don’t have the same deadly ninja skills and determination as Widow or the tactile brain of Cap so as I watch my bullet supply dwindle; I’m hoping that sheer fire power is going to win this one. 

It’s a longer sprint from the stack of pallets to the next patch of cover which is, surprise, surprise, another bunch of oil drums.  Why are there always oil drums in places like this when bad guys are involved? It’s like they actually want us to set fire to them and exit in the clichéd action movie style of an exploding building as a backdrop.  All that’s ever missing is the slo-mo heroic dive for cover at the end.  And how did my life even become an action movie epic? Note to self: these are _NOT_ the thoughts to be having whilst I’m being shot at by the last of the grunts.  I take a deep breath and break cover only to find that there’s only one grunt left and he’s occupied with Clint now that he’s been spotted up in the rafters.

“Need a hand there Hawkeye?” I smirk into the comm.  as I reload the new handguns with Tony’s new bullets.  “Got something I need to test.”

“He’s all yours Trigger.”

I have no idea what these bullets do but I empty a few into the last remaining grunt who has his back turned to me as he tries to get a good angle on Clint.  He drops instantly and I holster my guns, only to see the just floored heavy start to get up.  I draw again but there’s something off.  I can’t help a laugh as I watch the 200lbs of muscle float – yes, float – up towards the rafters.  He’s definitely dead but he’s floating.  _FUCKING FLOATING._ He floats right up past Clint, who puts an arrow between his eyes for good measure, before bumping up against the roof.

“Huh. Iron Man?”

“Yes dear?”

“You’re super secret bullets work.”

“Ooooo, I wanna see!”

Tony comes whooshing in through the open doors of the warehouse seconds later to take a look at his handy work as Clint makes his way down to ground level.  I leave him staring up at the dead grunt with an arrow though his brain and turn towards Phil who is still tied to the chair.  I’m by his side in moments and gently tipping his chin up so that I can get a good look.

“K? Talk to me,” I try to hide the worry in my voice as I take in the swollen eye socket, gash across his cheek and missing teeth hidden behind puffy and split lips.

“M’ok ‘gnt,” And it’s a good job I speak Wounded Agent fluently as I’m pretty sure not many people would have heard the ‘I’m OK agent’ in the slur I get back.

“How is he?” Clint asks as he jogs up beside me so he that he can finally get his hands on Phil.  He unties the rope around Phil’s hands and rubs his arms to help get the feeling back in them before running his hands over the bits he can reach to check for other injuries.

“Concussion at the very least,” I reply, untying Phil’s ankles from the chair legs and helping Clint take his weight.  “He needs to be in medical and we need to not be here ASAP.”  Its worrying that Phil is so pliant as I drape his other arm over my shoulders and we head towards the door, Clint on his other side.  He’s mumbling all sorts of nonsense and I want us all gone as soon as we can. 

Outside looks like a bomb hit it but then knowing Tony, that’s probably not far from the truth.  There are bodies of HYRDA agents strewn everywhere and there’s flaming wreckage all over the place.

“You had fun then?” I say to Tony who has opened his faceplate to grin at me.

“As always darling!  JARVIS? You’d better call the Men in Black in to clear up the mess we made.”

_“Already done sir.  I have also taken the liberty of calling a Quinjet and medical team for your extraction Agent Johnson.”_

“J, you’re a fucking saint.”

“So, are we going to Die Hard this fucker or what?” Clint asks from the other side of Phil.

“Iron Man?”

“Consider it done.”

Tony aims his gauntlets at some of the ever present oil drums and the whole lot lights up like Christmas.  He unloads something high-tech from a shoulder mount on the suit in through the doors of the warehouse and several explosions later, we’re getting our slo-mo action hero exit that would make James Bond look like a fucking amateur. 


	2. Chapter 2

Back at S.H.I.E.L.D medical later and I’m pacing at the end of the bed that Phil is sat on.  Turns out his concussion isn’t that bad but he’s going to be on medical leave for at least a few days. He’s demanding that he can go home tonight though and no-one is going to attempt to stop him. Much to Clint’s displeasure, I forced him into getting the once over by the medical team by threatening to cancel his Netflix account.  Just a few minor grazes and a couple of stitches later and he’s perched on the window ledge in Phil’s room, his eyes following me as my angry pacing increases.

“Lissy, stop,” He says softly.  “You’re going to wear a grove in the floor.”

“Fuck off Barton,” I snap, my eyes continuously straying to Phil’s slightly swaying figure.  I was lucky enough to escape with just a bullet graze to the left shoulder and a few cuts and scrapes.  I know that Phil’s injuries are minor compared to others that he’s had over the years but it still hurts to see him sitting there looking so battered.  It’s been a few months now since the three of us started our…..whatever this is but this is the first time that any of us has been seriously hurt.  I can feel panic starting to claw its way out and I can’t be in the same room.  The sudden thought of any one of us dying and leaving the other two behind is too much to bear.  How did I let myself get into this, get so attached?  Yeah, they’re both unbelievably hot but I know whats happening here – I’m having ‘feelings’.  Feelings are never good when you’re a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.  They get in the way, cloud judgement and make you do exactly what I’m doing now – freaking the fuck out when one of my lovers has been injured.

Nope. Can’t do it. Can’t put myself through losing either one of them.

“I….I can’t.  Can’t do it, do _this._ Can’t…..” I grab my filthy field jacket, sling it over a shoulder and head for the door. 

“Darklis, wha…..”

“I’m sorry sir, I just can’t.”

I leave them both in the hospital room, breaking into a run as the panic gets worse and the pain in my chest builds.  And I don’t stop running until I’m halfway across the city, dressed in a ripped and dirty field uniform and getting stared at by the public walking by.  Not the best decision to have run out into New York City whilst still in S.H.I.E.L.D. field gear but fuck it – I needed out.  Thankfully, I checked all my guns back into the weapons locker back at HQ.  I slink into the nearest coffee shop and slump into the seat furthest from the door but with a view of the whole place.  A waitress sidles over nervously and I order a triple espresso.  I’m already keyed up so whats a triple a shot of caffeine to add to the adrenaline jitters?

What the fuck am I doing?  Where am I going to go?  All my stuff is back at the tower, including my bike so I’m going to have to go back. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” I mumble to myself as the waitress comes back with my coffee before quickly leaving as she takes in the blood stains all over my uniform.  I stir in all the sugar sachets there are on the table and finish the coffee in two mouthfuls just before my comm. springs to life in my ear making me jump. 

“You just ran away, didn’t you?” Clint’s voice comes over the comm. and he sounds pissed.

“What if I did?”

“Get your sorry ass back here now.”

“No.”

“Oh, you want me to come get you and drag you home, is that it?”

“No.”

“Fine……”

The comm. clicks off and my shoulders sag in defeat.  That was a pretty shitty thing for me to have done to the pair of them but I can’t stop the panic from clinging on and it terrifies me.  I clutch my now empty coffee mug tighter and hunch over further.  It’s not long before Clint appears outside on my bike and stalks into the coffee shop, scattering customers as he makes his way over to where I’m sitting.  I make a mental note to kill Stark later for giving Clint access to the GPS signal in my comm. link.  Clint looks worse than I do and a lot of the customers scurry out the door at the sight of two bloodied and battered S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.  He throws my duffle bag onto the table, sending my coffee mug flying to smash on the floor and his eyes flash at me.

“You can either take this and the bike and leave, or you can be a fucking adult and come back to the tower to explain yourself,” He says in a low voice that is dripping with anger.  “Which one’s gonna be?”

I glare at him for a few long minutes before dragging myself to my feet.  I throw more than enough bills on the table to cover my coffee and any broken crockery, snatch up my duffel and head out to the bike.  Clint follows and I can feel the rage radiating off him.  When I get to the bike, I throw the duffel back at him and swing a leg over the bike.

“Get on,” I grind out through gritted teeth and Clint shoulders the bag and climbs on behind me.  I’m not gentle on the ride back to the tower, running red lights and taking corners too fast but I’m angry.  Really angry.  I’m angry because Clint felt the need to come and drag me home, I’m angry at myself for being such a coward and I’m angry because both Clint and Phil got hurt.   I’m especially angry at Phil for allowing himself to be taken and beaten in the first place and the closer we get to the tower the angrier I get.  By the time we get there, I’m shaking with it and practically kick Clint off the back of the bike in my rage, stomping towards the elevator in the garage and JARVIS has the foresight to just open the doors before I get there to avoid any damage I may inflict in my impatience to get up to our floor.  Clint follows without saying anything and we stand at opposite sides of the lift in silence.  When it reaches our floor, I stomp out into the living room which is in darkness.  Clint stops just behind me and I whirl around to glare at him.

“You’re a shit, you know that?” I spit at him and he looks a little shocked at how angry I am but is wise enough not to say anything.  I grab him by the top of his tac vest and pull him into a bruising kiss, needing to feel him, let me know that he’s real and he’s alive.  The kiss is angry and all teeth and tongue.  When I finally tear myself away, his eyes are dark and we’re both panting.  “Where is he?”

Clint nods towards the bedroom and I drag him by the collar of his vest into the bedroom where I find Phil sat at the end of the bed looking battered and bruised.  I let my eyes wonder over him for the millionth time that day and assess his injuries.  The swelling on his face has gone down a lot thanks to the ice packs that medical had given him and he’s been cleaned up with antiseptic wipes and the gash on his cheek has been stitched.  He looks up at me, one eye still slightly closed up with some swelling and he offers me a weak smile.

“You I’ll deal with later,” I say pointedly to Clint before rounding on Phil, pushing my way to stand between his thighs and grabbing his face in my still gloved hand to tilt his face roughly up to face me.  His hands come up to grip my hips tightly as he winces at how hard I’m holding his face.  “What the fuck did you think you were doing out there?  How did they get close enough to take you?  Why didn’t you stay you of sight and let Clint, Tony and me handle it?  I am so fucking mad at you right now, _sir_.”

“Hey, go easy Lissy,” Clint says as he moves in behind me, hands covering Phil’s on my hips. 

“No. I’m pissed,” I growl, tipping Phil’s face from side to side so I can inspect him closer.  His steel grey eyes follow me as I take in every scratch and every bruise can see.  I let go of his face so I can start tearing off his ruined suit jacket followed by his shirt, buttons flying across the room.  Fuck it – the suit and the shirt were ruined anyway.  No amount of dry cleaning is ever going to be able to get all the stains out.  I drop to my knees on the floor so I’m level with Phil’s face and run my hands over his torso, fingers mapping every bump and what will no doubt be fresh scars.  He flinches away from me when I run my hand roughly over a particularly mottled patch of skin by his ribs and he gets a slap across the thigh for that.  “Sit still – I need to see.”

The need to check every inch of both of them is overwhelming.  I need to see every last bit, need to know that they’re both here with me, both very much alive.  I need to remap both of them, commit all the new injuries to memory.  It wasn’t a tough mission by any means but Phil being injured has shaken me badly.  Over the last few months that the three of us have been together, we’ve always come back without a scratch on any of us; clothes still all intact and hardly an arrow or bullet spent.  To be honest, it’s been a bit dull.  I find myself working with the Avengers more often than not thanks to the rate that Tony has been churning out new designs and insisting that I always come along to test anything.  I suspect that it’s Tony’s way of making sure that I’m around Clint and Phil as often as possible.  He’s a sneaky little fucker like that, as well as a hopeless romantic and he’ll kill me in my sleep if I ever reveal to anyone what a big softie he actually is.  Right now, I’m eternally grateful to him because it meant that I was there for this mission.  I was there to make sure I brought both my boys back alive and here they both are: one behind me covered in grime and sporting a few scrapes and the other in front of me looking battered, worn and world weary.  But they’re both here and that’s the main thing.  Doesn’t stop me from having a continuous inner panic at how deep I’ve got myself into this and how much it hurts to see Phil like this.  He’s not even fighting me as I reprimand him.  There’s nothing dominant about him tonight, just as there’s certainly nothing submissive about me tonight either.  I’m very much in charge and Phil seems more than happy to let me.  His eyes tell me that he know I need this, need to be rough and insistent as I check him over.

I start to follow my hands with my lips, occasionally biting a bruise and making Phil hiss through his teeth above me.  I work my way back up his torso and finally take his mouth in a fierce kiss, biting at his bottom lip which just makes the split there bleed again.  My mouth is suddenly full of the copper tang of Phil’s blood and I can’t resist swiping my tongue across the split a few times, the taste making him real under my hands and mouth.  Clint’s hands are in my hair and he pulls my face roughly away from Phil’s to kiss me.  When he pulls away, his mouth is smeared with blood so fuck knows what I must look like.  I can feel it on my chin and when I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, it comes away bloody.

“Fuck Lissy, do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Clint growls, his hand tightening in my hair until my scalp starts to throb.

“Let go,” I hiss back and Clint drops his hand.  He knows the mood I’m in and has no doubt been exactly the same in the past when Phil has been hurt.   I turn back to Phil who has blood trickling down his chin, his eyelids heavy and his breathing shallow.  I push him backwards until he’s flat on the bed and climb over him, my thighs bracketing his hips and with a hand on the bed either side of his head, he’s not going anywhere fast, not in his state.  “I’ll say it again – I am so fucking mad at you right now sir.”

“I gathered that Little One,” Phil almost whispers and his throat sounds painful.  Judging by the bruising around his neck, the HYDRA grunts weren’t shy about manhandling him.  I slap him across the side of the face that has the stitched gash and he grunts in pain.

“Did I say you could fucking talk?” Phil shakes his head as he feels the bed dip as Clint sits on the bed beside him.  “You’re going to shut the fuck up and take what Clint and I give you.”  Phil just nods as Clint kneels behind him and takes his wrists, pinning them to the bed.  I’m grateful to him for catching on to what I have in mind for Phil and I take a moment to look up into those blue-green eyes of his for reassurance.  With the smallest of nods, I’m free to show Phil just how pissed I am and just how much he scared me today. 

Clint I’ll deal with later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not overly happy with how this turned out. I've not written any rimming or anal before so this is my first attempt. If anyone had any pointers or can see where I'm going wrong, let me know. All advice gladly received and filed away for later reference.
> 
> Also, I have the rest of this series roughly mapped out but if anyone has anything specific they wanted to see, I'm always open to prompts and will slot them in if I can :)

With Phil's arms stretched above him and pinned by Clint, it leaves him deliciously exposed to me and I run my still gloved hands over his torso, pressing on various new bruises to hear the low groan that rumbles up out of Phil's throat. I always like to wear my fingerless field gloves when I can when I'm with either of them – I love the contrast of them against Clint's tanned skin or especially Phil's paler tone. Clint has already taken off his arm and finger guards which is a shame because as yet, I haven't had the chance to get him to keep them on when we're in the bedroom. 

I add my mouth to the proceedings, nipping and licking at Phil's skin, tasting the saltiness of his skin after a day in the field and it mixes with his usual taste. He tastes of dirt, blood and sweat and I can't fucking get enough of it. Its a taste that gives away the raw animal power that he keeps hidden under the layers of his suits, hidden away for only me and Clint savour when we get to be like this. Usually after a mission, the sex is fast and hard, none of us waiting to even get undressed properly. But this time it's different. This time I need to take it slowly, savouring every dip and scar of Phil's body to let myself know that he's still here and still alive. I take extra time over the scar on his chest. It still looks so new after Loki's sceptre ripped a hole right through him. It's still an ugly, red mangled patch of skin but to me it's also beautiful. It's a testament to just how bad-ass and strong Phil is and I use my lips to map it for the thousandth time. Today wasn't anything like Phil has faced in the past, this scar being the worst, but it's still shaken me. 

I shift down the bed so that I'm knelt in between Phil's legs and my fingers fumble a little getting his slacks undone. 

“Hey kiddo?” Clint says softly as he sees me struggle with Phil's belt. I look up to see him looking back at me. “Breathe.” 

I stop for a moment to drag in a breath, not realising just how on edge I am. I concentrate on evening out my breathing, all the while locking eyes with Clint's as I let him calm me down. He's still pining Phil to the bed and my eyes drift down to Phil who is (and he'll always deny this) _squirming_ against the sheets with his eyes screwed shut. 

“Does he always get like this when someone else is in charge?” I ask, lips quirking slightly as I take in the sight of Agent Phil Coulson actually fucking _squirming_ on the bed. 

“Yeah. Sometimes he just needs to let go, y'know?” Clint says fondly, following my eyes down Phil's body, taking in the flush that is starting to make its way from his neck to his chest. He's so lost in the sensation of Clint holding him down and my hands on his body that he's not hearing us as we talk over the top of his writhing form and he's starting to make these little whimpers in the back of his throat that make my breath hitch. 

“Well. Good job there's two of us then huh?” Clint just nods and I make short work of Phil' pants, pulling them down and throwing them over my shoulder somewhere in the room. I leave his snug, black boxer briefs on for now. There's something undeniably thrilling about being the one in charge for a change. Don't get me wrong, I _LOVE_ it when Phil is the dominant one and the last few months have been nothing short of spectacular. But this right here? This is amazing. And it's actually humbling, the way that Phil trusts us enough to give himself over like this. If any one else were to see him like this, all the years of carefully cultivating the impenetrable Agent Coulson facade will have have been a complete waste. I know that Clint and Phil have a level of trust that my mind just can't even try to comprehend, but to see that Phil can let himself go like this in front of me makes it an honour. 

I run my hands down both of Phil's legs, my fingertips pressing slightly harder into the new bruises than the unmarked skin. Peeling his socks off, I can see that the ropes used to tie his ankles to the chair have chaffed the skin and I lightly scratch my nails across the reddened skin, earning me a hiss from Phil above me. 

“You gonna carry on teasing him or are you gonna do something about that?” Clint smirks and nods towards the impressive tent in the front of Phil's boxer briefs. 

“Patience Specialist,” I smirk back and lower my head to start nipping and licking my way up the inside of Phil's right leg, stopping when I get to the hem of his underwear. Phil's squirming even more – the inside of his thighs are ridiculously sensitive – and his hands are clenching and unclenching helplessly as Clint pins his wrists. I move to do the same thing up his left thigh and that gets one of those delicious moans of Phil's that makes me shiver. Gripping his hips, I press my lips to Phil's cock that's straining against the material of his briefs and give it small, butterfly kisses along the length that the black fabric is straining to contain. Breathing in, I'm treated to the heady scent that is pure Phil and I can't contain a groan. I mouth at him then, making the cotton wet until I start to gently suckle at the head, forcing another moan from him. His thighs are twitching and I muse on the fact that perhaps I should have tied his ankles to the bed. But the ropes have done a number on his skin there so that would just be mean and that's not what this is about. 

It doesn't take long for me to get frustrated at the last barrier between me and Phil's cock so the boxer briefs are rapidly disposed of, leaving him completely naked while Clint and I are still in our filthy field gear. I can't resist the temptation of crawling back up Phil's body and lowering myself on top of him slowly, letting all the straps and catches on my uniform rub against his exposed skin. I know how much Clint loves it when I do this to him and yeah – Phil is no different. In fact, judging by the loud, open mouthed moan that just escaped, I'd say he likes it even more than Barton. The rough edges of my tac vest must be catching on all his new wounds, but Phil still arches up into me, legs coming up to trap me between his thighs as he tries to get some friction. 

“Hey! No rubbing off on the uniform!” I scold and reach down to slap a purpling bruise on Phil's hip. He honest-to-god whimpers but lets his body sag back on to the bed. 

“Y'know Lissy, you being so bossy is probably one of the hottest fucking things I've ever seen,” Clint growls and I look up to see him biting his lip. 

“Oh, you like that huh?” I arch an eyebrow at him, mind working over time with all the images flashing through it. “Go make yourself useful and get the lube. I've got plans for you.” 

Clint doesn't have to be told twice, just gives me a filthy grin and makes short work of getting off the bed and digging through the bedside draw. Without Clint pining his wrist, Phil's arms are suddenly around my shoulders trying to pull me down to him, clearly wanting as much friction as he can get. I oblige and let him rub himself up against me. He hisses through his teeth as the rough material digs into all the sore bits that it's pressed against but he doesn't stop. In fact, I'm pretty sure he starts writing some more. Clint is back on the bed and drops the bottle of lube onto the bed next to us before he's back behind Phil and kneels so that Phil's head is bracketed between his knees. I try to pull away but I get a whine from Phil as he grips tighter. 

“Please.....need......” 

“Sshh, we've got you,” Clint soothes, running a hand through Phil's hair and looks up at me in a silent question. I try again to sit up and this time Phil lets me, scrabbling behind his head until he get can a hand on Clint's cargo pants with one hand. The other is reaching for me and I take it in my own to give it a squeeze. I sit back on my heels and take in the sight before me and I let out a happy sigh. Phil has got an all over body flush going on and his eyes are screwed shut as he ruts against nothing but air. And Clint is in full field gear, boots and all and looking, if its possible, fond at the same time as looking as though he's about to eat Phil alive. Reaching for the lube, I squirt some into my hands, rubbing them together to warm it up before reaching for Phil's dick and giving it a long, languid stroke. He really does arch of the bed then before he realises that he's not supposed to do that and gets his body to relax against the bed again. I give him a few more lazy strokes before bringing my other hand into play and sliding it down behind his balls to tease at his hole. I get a gasp in return but I'm not entirely sure who from. 

“Fuck. Are you....?” Clint starts to ask as he watches me and the grin I give him in reply is enough to make his eyes darken and I carry on teasing for a while. 

“Phil?” I say, trying to get my voice to be as commanding as I can. Not easy when I have a writhing, moaning Agent Coulson laid out in front of me. He forces his eyes open to look at me, his steal-grey eyes almost completely swallowed by his pupils. “You don't get to come until I say you can. Same goes for you Barton.” 

Clint exhales heavily and I see his hand tighten in Phil's hair at the words but he nods and I use that moment to slide a finger inside Phil, crooking it just so. He cries out as his back bows and he claws at the sheets. I let a breathy chuckle out because if only people could see him right now, flushed and wanton. Actually, scrap that. This is just for Clint and me, no-one else. A brief thought crosses my mind that Natasha has probably seen him like this but that just makes it all the hotter. The image of Natasha, Clint and Phil like this has been in my wank bank for a while now. I add a second finger, scissoring them slightly, opening Phil up painfully slowly, relishing in every moan and whimper that spills from his lips. The slowness is partly because I want him to feel everything and know just how much I care about him. The other part is down to the fact that we haven't done this before and I don't want to hurt him. 

When Phil starts grinding down on my hand and whining, I take that as the my cue to pour more lube onto my fingers and add a third finger and he _keens_ at that. Actually makes a little mewling sound as I stretch him further and I can't help myself, I need my mouth on him. Pulling one of his legs up and over my shoulder, I tentatively lower myself and run my tongue around where he's pulling my fingers inside. He smells muskier here, more earthy, more _Phil_. I pull my fingers free and marvel at how he stays open and loose for a second before clenching closed around nothing but air. With a hand on the inside of each thigh, I push his legs further apart and lave at his hole, wringing a guttural groan from him. The lube isn't the nicest tasting but that's soon replaced by my saliva as he takes my tongue. I never thought I'd ever be doing this to anyone but then Phil makes me want to do things I've never done before. Right now, I'm on the bed fully clothed, still with my boots on and ass in the air as I eat Phil out like I'm a starved woman. 

“ _Jesus_ Lissy,” Clint groans and when I look up along the length of Phil's flushed body, I see him palming his cock through his field pants. “I need to see this.......” Clint clambers down the bed until he's beside me and moans when he takes in the sight of my mouth on Phil's ass. “Give him your fingers as well.” 

Pulling free for long enough to slide three fingers back inside, my mouth rejoins the proceedings as I spread my digits, getting Phil nice and ready to take Clint. Letting my fingers do the work, I turn my head to mouth at the inside of Phil's thigh as I look at Clint. 

“I want to see you fuck him,” I growl, nipping at the hyper-sensitive skin on Phil's thigh. Clint growls back and grabs my hair to haul me up and kiss me. It's messy and our teeth clack together a bit from the force of it. And If I was worried about kissing either of them after having my tongue in Phil's ass, Clint puts that worry to bed as he licks the taste of lube and Phil right out of my mouth. When he eventually pulls away, we're both panting and Clint starts to wriggle free of his uniform. “Leave it on. Leave it all on.” 

Clint's eyes widen but he tugs his pants back up and pulls his gorgeous cock out instead, hard and flushed, the head purpling he's so fucking hard. I have to lean over Phil's let then and take Clint into my mouth. It'd be a terrible waste not to. He can't help the thrust his hips give and I'm choking on him which just makes me groan around his length. The three of us learnt pretty fast that anything that involves me choking on either of their cocks is perfectly fine by me. In fact, I insist on it. I've gone from being a take it or leave it kinda girl when it comes to dick to a total cock slut when I'm around these two. Whenever, however, don't care. I'm still trying to convince Phil to let me blow him under his desk in the office. But I have other plans for Clint's cock tonight so I reluctantly pull off with a lewd and loud pop. It's a thing of beauty, standing proud and flushed against the black of his tac vest and if I didn't have plans for him already, I'd be stripping off and riding him hard faster than you can say S.H.I.E.L.D. Fraternization Rules. With one last crook of my fingers that hits Phil's prostate and has him arching of the bed again, I slip my fingers free and move off to the side. 

“Your turn Specialist,” I grin filthily at Clint and he doesn't hesitate to take my place in between Phil's legs. He lines up and slides in easily thanks to my meticulous and bordering on anal (hah!) insistence on prepping Phil properly. Clint stills when he's fully seated, his hips flush against the back of Phil's thighs and a groan fills that room that can only come from all three of us. I've had the pleasure of watching the two of them together yet, not really. Sure, I've been witness to Clint blowing Phil or Phil fingering Clint but never like this. I feel like the breath as been punched out of my lungs right now because they fit together as though they were meant to, like this is where they're both supposed to be. They're perfect together and I almost feel like I'm intruding on something so intimate and flawless that I have to resist the urge to slip out of the room. It's not until Phil shoots out an arm towards me and grabs my hand to pull me to him that I shake that thought from my mind. If either one of them didn't want me here right now, I would have been gone a long time ago. I settle in behind Phil, pulling him in between my legs so that he's propped up against my chest, much like I was that first night the three of us were together like this. His hands find my thighs and grip like a vice as Clint starts moving, slowly at first but that'll change soon enough. 

“Is that good sir? Does he feel good filling you up like that?” I bend to murmur in Phil's ear. All he can do is nod, lost in the feeling of having Clint inside him. “Going to take such good care of you sir.” Phil moans as Clint changes his angle slightly and nails that spot just right. This is hotter than I could ever have imagined. I guessed early on that Phil doesn't bottom often and that's a little disappointing as this is so fucking hot right now, seeing Phil like this, that I hope I get to see it more often than not. I can't tear my eyes away from where the pair of them are joined and the heat starts to pool in my belly in earnest now. I have no intention of getting myself off or having one of them do it as tonight is about them, not me. For now, I'll revel in the feeling that edging brings: frustrating and thrilling all at once. I'm a firm fan of keeping it going for days, getting so close then backing off. It drives me crazy but I love it and it makes the orgasm at the end of it the most exquisitely perfect thing. I have a sneaking suspicion that Phil has already caught on to this little snippet of information as each time we're together, he holds out on letting me come for a little longer each time. 

Clint speeds up and it's not long before he's pounding Phil into the mattress. Just to be cruel, I reach down and take his cock in hand, stroking along with Clint's thrusts.

 “ _STOP_! Gonna......,” Clint stops abruptly when Phil cries out and I grip the base of his cock, holding off that moment for a little longer. 

“You can take it Sir,” I say to Phil and nod to Clint for him to keep going, which he does although a little less hard and fast. He is, however, canting his hips just so and hitting the bundle of nerves each time he slides in. He can be a real fucking bastard sometimes. I grip Phil a little tighter just to hold him back for longer and he hisses through his teeth and shoots me a look that tells me I'll be paying for being so cruel at some time in the very near future. But he starts pushing back against Clint on every in stroke and that gives me some glorious friction against my field pants. I'm already getting close and I haven't even been touched but I challenge anyone not to come on the spot when they're in bed with these two. 

“Close Lissy,” Clint groans, his hips stuttering a little as he lets go of one of Phil's legs to wipe his brow on the back of his hand. 

“Think you can come without being touched Sir?” I ask Phil and when I look down, I'm surprised I get any answer at all. Phil is so gone, my grip on his cock clearly the only thing holding him back at this point. His body is covered in sweat and his face is contorted with bliss and concentration as he struggles not to come. He's bitten his lip so hard that he's made a new spilt to add to the already bleeding one that he's been worrying. There's blood tricking down his chin and I manage to bend myself in half to lick the trail off his chin so that my mouth is once again filled with that copper tang. I look up at Clint and he's biting his own lip as he watches the pair of us, brow knotted as he holds off until I tell him he can. 

“Cum Clint, fill him up for me,” I order and one, two, three hard thrusts later Clint is emptying into Phil, head thrown back as a raw animal sound rips from his throat, every muscle in his body taut and rigid as he cums. He falls back onto his heels, still moving inside Phil gently before he softens completely. 

“You gonna come for me Sir?” I whisper in Phil's ear and he nods frantically, arching his back and begging me to let go of his cock. I do and almost instantly, his back bows and he cums all over his chest in thick white stripes so hard that some of it hits his chin. Clint continues to gently fuck him through it as he comes down from his own high and after what seems like an age, Phil flops back onto the bed, utterly spent. His hands are still fisted in my cargo pants though and I stroke his hair lovingly as he floats in his fucked out bliss. Clint eventually slides free, soft and spent and flops down across Phil's chest, not caring about the mess now sandwiched between them. Phil wraps his arms and legs around Clint and the three of us lay there for a few long minutes as our breathing evens back out. I've got one hand carding through Phil's hair and one in Clint's brushing the sweaty strands out of his eyes. 

“What 'bout you?” Clint slurs eventually, raising his head just enough to look at me. 

“Meh, I can wait,” I shrug and Clint frowns at me. “Honestly, I'm good. That was fucking hot but I don't need to cum. Don't want to actually. I like waiting. Right now though, I think we could all use a wash.” 

Phil hums in agreement and Clint cranes his neck to kiss him, long and lazy as I look on. I reluctantly wriggle out from under both of them and saunter into the bathroom to start the bath off. Pretty sure none of us has got the energy to keep upright in the shower and the bath is big enough for all three of us. I fill it with Phil's favourite oils and then go and help Clint get Phil up off the bed and into the hot, steaming water. He's still not quite with us yet and when I slide naked into the bath behind him, his head flops back against my shoulder as Clint climbs in before settling down in front of us bracketed by two pairs of legs. In contented, sated quiet, Clint and I wash Phil down, careful of the stitches in his face and by the time we're done, Phil is practically purring. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the happy little sounds he's making in the back of his throat _IS_ purring. Makes sense seeing as I've long been convinced that Phil is part feline. 

Pretty soon, the three of us are clean and absolutely exhausted. My body is still thrumming with the desire to cum but I'm not going to. I can go days like this so one night is nothing. I find it a surprisingly comforting feeling, lulling me towards sleep as we get out of the bathtub and dry off. It's not long before Clint yawns so wide that his jaw cracks and it's high time we were all tucked up in bed. I usher the pair of them back into the bedroom and not caring about the messy sheets, nudge them both under the covers. I climb in after them and Clint is still awake enough to tuck Phil between us both, his back to my front and his head pillowed on Clint's shoulder. I pull the covers up over us and settle in for a well deserved sleep. 

As I drift off, contentedness seeping into my bones, I chastise myself for even thinking about running away earlier in the evening. There really is nowhere else I'd rather be than right here, right now. I do, however, make a mental note to get Clint angry at me again though. I think I could have some fun with that. 


End file.
